Secret

She knew a secret.
It was not heavy.
It was not difficult.
It was neither gray sky
nor thunder loud.

 

Instead, it was light
as an autumn leaf twirling
on an easy breeze.
It was a brilliant sunrise
quiet as a whisper.

 

Her secret was kindness
in the face of indifference.
It was the promise of a rainbow
after the raging storm.
It was love in a time of anger.

Late August

 In late August, the honey in my little plastic bear

has turned to near solid amber,

zinnias still stand tall but now with

yellowed leaves,

gayfeather have lost their luster,

white cone flowers show black bug bites,

and autumn creeps ever closer.